


Watermarks

by Kisuru



Series: 100 Fandom Challenge [3]
Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations
Genre: Canon - Anime, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/pseuds/Kisuru
Summary: Sekiei was a friend that Mitsuki never wants to forget. The rest of Squad 7 isn’t surprised he wants a memento to remember him by before they leave The Hidden Stone.This is a tribute to Sekiei's memory after the Fabrications incident. Boruto episodes 91-92.Prompt: 084. Drawing





	Watermarks

Squad 7 watched their friends wander the semi-crowded street in the distance. Namida pointed at a faraway sign, and Chocho ran ahead to a food shop. The others examined The Hidden Stone’s shops and local sights.  
  
Antsy, Boruto kicked the small patch of pebbles he stood on. “At least someone’s getting some souvenirs to take home.”  
  
Sarada shot him a look that clearly stated _this mission wasn’t a field trip_ but he ignored her. She sighed, staring after them longingly.  
  
Head tilted, Mitsuki glanced up at the sky. He bit his lip and didn’t comment. He kept silent, thoughtful about their surroundings. Mitsuki took in the brown, rock-strewn buildings and landscape for the foreseeable future.  
  
Ready to go back home, Konohamaru more or less expected his squad’s feelings. Even while he was ready and had gotten them outside the hotel early, though, he realized the heavy burden that floated in the air around them.  
  
Now, they weren’t exactly a squad anymore.  
  
Konohamaru examined the three stressed ex-genin. Of course they had been insubordinate. Still, a swell of pride rippled in his chest; they had gone the extra distance for Mitsuki while he hadn’t been able to do too much himself. The severity of the situation came later. For a lack of words at the moment’s awkwardness, Konohamaru scratched the back of his neck.  
  
“So, how soon until we leave?” Sarada finally asked, putting forth the forbidden question.  
  
While Sarada was happy to head home, she knew there was a mountain of complications now. Besides, she was not in any rush to explain to an exasperated and disappointed Sakura their genin licenses were revoked.  
  
“Few hours,” Konohamaru replied, stretching an arm above his head. “The dust has settled, and the funeral proceedings for Ohnoki-dono will be set into motion this afternoon after we leave. Anyway, since I can’t let you three explore the village on your own without me, we should just head to the train station.”  
  
Boruto and Sarada exchanged a knowing glance. They knew he was right—but, all the same, it was the end of the line and they couldn’t escape the consequences. But they still didn’t regret leaving the village for it.  
  
Mitsuki didn’t say anything, and his shoulders sagged. He, however, felt guilty for them.  
  
Konohamaru clapped his hands. Someone had to be the light-hearted one with so many long faces. “Let’s buy as much as we want to eat at the station for breakfast.” When Sarada and Boruto looked less than impressed with his attempt, his resolve crumbled for real.  
  
Mitsuki sighed, feet refusing to move from their spot on the ground. The situation was his own fault, and he didn’t feel comfortable bringing up the subject. There would never be another chance to do what he wanted after they left the village. Mitsuki had been in the village made of stone and dust and earth for a short time. Yet he had grown to appreciate the sandy junctures. Most of all, Sekiei still called out to him there, a piece of him.  
  
“Mitsuki?” Boruto asked.  
  
Konohamaru and Sarada’s attention turned.  
  
Feeling their eyes on him, Mitsuki shrugged. “It’s nothing.” Because he guessed it wasn’t. Sekiei was dead. Nothing could change it.  
  
“Of course it is,” Boruto said. He inched closer and peered at him. “Tell me anything!”  
  
Telling was different than wanting something when he had caused a crime. He wasn’t in a position to ask for favors, especially after so much trouble had been caused on his behalf. He still didn’t know how to put that into words, either. “It may be too much to ask,” Mitsuki said, tiptoeing away from his mixed feelings.  
  
Sarada didn’t let it drop. “Well?”  
  
Konohamaru watched him carefully. While he still struggled with acceptance and anger, he would listen without prejudice. Mitsuki wasn’t sure what it was in his expression, but it was similar to the earnest concern Boruto often showed, and he found himself, despite the discomfort of the isolation and interrogation to come, willing to bring it into the open.  
  
“I wanted to… Our… Sekiei’s room...” Mitsuki took a breath and spoke again. “I wanted to go back to the room I shared with Sekiei.”  
  
“Sekiei?” Konohamaru asked. He thought for a minute. “You mean one of the Akuta?”  
  
“Yes,” Mitsuki said. “He was my friend.”  
  
Konohamaru frowned. Indeed, that was a bit to ask, because the place was technically off-limits. He was instructed to do the opposite of honor the request and keep them away from the evidence while it was investigated.  
  
Sarada cleared her throat.  
  
“I think it’s a good idea,” Sarada admitted. “I know we can’t…” She shook her head, broken between the options. Despite that, she knew one thing was true. “Well, Mitsuki looks hurt like he really wants to, Konohamaru-sensei.”  
  
Mitsuki didn’t know. Hurt? Was he hurt?  
  
Konohamaru hesitated.  
  
Boruto rocked back and forth on his heels. The act was casual, but his expression was sheepish, his eyes determined. “Hey, nii-chan, please? We’ll make it quick! For Mitsuki…”  
  
And Konohamaru couldn’t well say no to three pairs of pleading eyes hunting him down. At the least, Sarada and Boruto were dedicated to this. And he would be with them anyway.  
  
He had also told Mitsuki he should do what he thought was right, and this was an example.  
  
“We can spare a short detour,” Konohamaru decided with a huff, turning on his heel.  
  


* * *

  
Mitsuki led them down the darkened tunnel where the Fabrications had setup quarters to the right room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, flicking the light on for them to see. Nothing had been moved from the way he remembered it the other morning.  
  
“It’s not a very big room,” Boruto voiced.  
  
“ _Boruto_ ,” Sarada mumbled, crossing her arms. She didn’t want Mitsuki to get annoyed he said something negative about the place.  
  
“It’s homey, dattebasa,” Boruto replied. He flopped down on the wooden chair next to the low table. “Jeeze. Let me finish, Sarada.”  
  
Mitsuki’s attention sought out the drawings adorned on the wall. There were as many as he remembered and perhaps a few more Sekiei had drawn during a bout of inspiration. The drawings of the Akuta and the village’s tall, stony figureheads made something twist in Mitsuki’s chest. Looking at them outside was one thing, but when he saw them drawn in likeness of their real life counterparts…  
  
“There’s a lot of places and people, so you can tell what was special,” Sarada said.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I guess,” Boruto said. He pointed to the left corner. “Hey, that one looks cool.”  
  
“That is a lot of art,” Konohamaru said. In spite of himself, he was interested. He slowly scanned the display. “Was art his hobby?”  
  
“His cherished memories,” Mitsuki said. “Of all the friends he made while he was alive.”  
  
Sarada leaned over the unoccupied chair at the table. The picture of the Akuta standing together caught her eye, as well as the girl genjutsu user she and Boruto fought. Sarada shivered at the memory. She traced the edge of one of the drawings. A googly-eyed Mitsuki stared at her. A boy with a cut-bowl hairstyle, brown hair, and bandages wound over his face held hands with the pictured Mitsuki.  
  
“That was the last one he draw,” Mitsuki said.  
  
Sarada smiled slightly. “What will they do with these?” Her heart pained at the idea they may be trashed, or something like that. “It’ll be a shame if everything here is destroyed.”  
  
“I doubt that. Collect them. Put them in a folder under lock and key so no one can see them, probably,” Konohamaru replied.  
  
“Huh? Why?” Boruto asked.  
  
For Konohamaru, it was harder to say now that he knew Mitsuki was attached to one of the Akuta as more than another artificial being. Someone could easily take advantage of the tools and descend chaos similar to how Ohnoki had allowed in this scenario—say, like Mitsuki’s own parent, Orochimaru. Naruto’s bombshell still rung in his ears. Konohamaru ground his teeth and shut his eyes, hard. But, deep down, he already knew this was child’s play compared to Orochimaru’s old habits;  
  
“A scientist won’t get ambitions of grandeur that they can control and create life again.” Konohamaru breathed in through his nose. “They will understand their experiments, as well as perhaps the Akuta’s mindsets. In the end, it was a giant enough failure of sorts. _”_  
  
Lazily, Boruto’s gaze landed on the picture Sarada admired. “Oh, I can tell you that. I don’t know how they did all that science stuff, but it doesn’t seem they were so different when things are said and done, dattebasa,” Boruto told him. “From humans anyway.”  
  
Mitsuki wasn’t listening anymore. He etched each of the curvy lines, colors, and shapes represented in the varying drawings to his thoughts. Memories were not perfect, and he would only remember the finer details in the future, but he had this moment to do so.  
  
Konohamaru noticed his fierce intent. The care with which Mitsuki imprinted memories and basked in them… Well, he was completely different from the negligent aura Orochimaru exuded. Mitsuki was keenly observant and vastly sincere. To him, the way in which he carried himself proved he was not like him; Orochimaru did not possess the same unique Will of Fire that inhibited Mitsuki’s soul.  
  
Snapping back to the present, Mitsuki knew he should explain. “Sekiei talked passionately about them,” he pointed out. Passion made for an excellent shinobi and he wanted Sekiei to make a good impression on them. “I didn’t always know what he meant. But he said… It is a form of self-expression. I didn’t know you could put so much of yourself in pictures.”  
  
“They are colorful,” Sarada agreed. “He put a lot of thought into the color choices he used.”  
  
“I’d say childish. Not in a bad way,” Boruto added quickly. He imagined Himawari’s big-eyed stare as she tugged him over to the kitchen table and the pile of coloring books on top. “They remind me of Hima’s drawings.”  
  
“Do you still color with her?” Sarada teased.  
  
Boruto bristled. Even on Sunday afternoons, his little sister wanted to scribble funny things in coloring books sometimes. Curse her for remembering. “The colors aren’t as bright as Hima’s crayons,” he continued, “but… I guess Inojin also uses darker color? But they aren’t as refined as his drawings. They look rougher than when I color outside the book lines.”  
  
“That may be their charm point, though,” Sarada said. “Not perfect, but they have… his personality? A heart that always kept what was important to him close at hand.”  
  
Satisfied, Mitsuki was pleased they liked them. He didn’t have much to add because he didn’t know much about art in the first place, but Sekiei would be happy with it. “Either way, I can’t draw them. They’re special to him.”  
  
Konohamaru’s willpower once again did a flip-flop. He shouldn’t offer, but the urge to was sudden and sharp. If it was that important for Mitsuki to remember who Sekiei was, then…  
  
“Why don’t you take one?” he suggested.  
  
Mitsuki blinked. “I’m allowed to do that?”  
  
“Well…” He caught himself, realizing the barrage of problems. He sighed. “He was your friend. You can’t leave him behind, right?”  
  
Mitsuki didn’t know how to describe him. He had wanted to make Sekiei understand his reasons, but he had fought him, so he didn’t know if the guilt was justified. But he had considered him a dear friend in a way Boruto wasn’t. Even if Sekiei had felt betrayed before he died, nothing was changed for Mitsuki.  
  
Konohamaru didn’t need the answer; he could read that look clearly without fault. “I’ll keep it until after you’re interrogated,” he told him. “I can’t one hundred percent guarantee you will keep the drawing. Putting the formal aspects aside… I will see what I can do.”  
  
Mitsuki smiled. “Thank you.”  
  


* * *

  
Knocking on the door to the Hokage’s office, Konohamaru waited for confirmation. Once he heard Naruto’s call to enter he stepped in. For a short bit they talked business about what recently happened, but Konohamaru steered the conversation towards a casual direction.  
  
“About the drawing I brought up when I filed the paperwork for Mitsuki—“ he started.  
  
“Oh, yeah, that,” Naruto said. He pushed some papers on his desk around and grabbed a white folder. “Mitsuki can have it now.”  
  
Konohamaru took the folder from him. “Just… like that?” he asked, dumbfounded. He had expected resistance despite what Sai and he reported that Mitsuki had gone through.  
  
“Exactly,” Naruto laughed, slightly nervous. “You see, Kurotsuchi was very gung-ho about them becoming genin of the Land of Earth. It kind of… fell into place. She’s fond of them now.” Naruto shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “She was shocked I wanted to take their licenses away. And then she looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’ll give them full honors when they come and live with us!’ So I, uh, I couldn’t…” Naruto helplessly shrugged his shoulders as if he were embarrassed to admit something.  
  
Konohamaru watched him, not even caught off-guard his Hokage was that soft-hearted. The drift was easy on the sly. “Really?” Relief washed through him. Indeed, he had hoped things would work themselves out, but he hadn’t dared to ask. “Truth be told, I’m glad I don’t have to be reassigned to another squad.” It was more of an acceptance than expected. Yet again, his chest tingled with odd pride his squad was both reckless and disobedient.  
  
“Anyway, Kurotsuchi got wind of the drawing since it was caught in the investigative loop, and she was more than ecstatic to let Mitsuki have the drawing. She said it is the least she can offer since it was from his time in Stone, dattebayo.” Naruto winced. “In fact, she gave me an earful you didn’t ask for _more_ nice things she could thank them properly with.” He gestured to a big box in the far corner of the room. “She brought some gifts for everyone involved. For all their help.”  
  
“Ah,” Konohamaru said, minutely amused with her warm thanks. Eyes narrowing, he smoothed his finger on the folder. He thought back to before they had left The Hidden Stone and Sarada and Boruto’s laments that they couldn’t join their friends on the market street. “Seems we got souvenirs after all, guys.”  
  
Meanwhile, Mitsuki didn’t expect to be fully pardoned with Sarada and Boruto. Their genin statuses were instated, so they essentially got off close to scot-free and went back to active duty. Even Mitsuki knew that there should be more punishment. Orochimaru had instilled that much within him, the consequences the Leaf would administer for such things—but Sarada’s enthusiasm that they were back together in action as a unit was infectious.  
  
It wasn’t until Konohamaru handed him the folder and flimsy sheet of paper inside that Mitsuki knew the day was a truly lucky one.  
  
“It took some persuading, but they agreed you should have this,” Konohamaru told him, nodding, hoping he looked as cool as he tried to sound. He couldn’t explain the Tsuchikage had made the whole affair ridiculously easy.  
  
“I am sorry for the trouble,” Mitsuki said.  
  
Konohamaru waved it off.  
  
“See, it all worked out, Mitsuki!” Boruto said, grinning at him. “I’m really glad you got it.”  
  
“That sounds mature of you,” Sarada said.  
  
“Oh, please.” Boruto rolled his eyes. “I can be mature after a long mission. We busted our tails to get Mitsuki back. It’s all good now!”  
  
Mitsuki returned home in good spirits that night. He clutched the pristine folder in his grasp, slipping the willowy paper out.  
  
Boruto and Sarada had said his room was drab and colorless without decorations on the walls or floor. They had said they would go shopping with him the first time they visited his apartment. Mitsuki didn’t think that was true. He had plenty of pictures of his own.  
  
Mitsuki first arranged his beside pictures for space. Boruto’s lone picture stood on his bed. Mitsuki placed the new photo of his many friends on the ledge. A tug prodded at his heart in a way he didn’t feel when his friends were with him in person, but he didn’t get what the emotion meant. They were all there, happy and looking at him. That was nice.  
  
Next, the trickier part came into play. He propped Sekiei’s drawing up on the table next to his other photos. It slid down and fell on the floor. Frowning, he tried the headboard next to Boruto’s photo. The thin, inked paper snaked behind the bed. He fished it out.  
  
What a dilemma. The picture frames of course didn’t fall like the paper without something surrounding it, and he didn’t have a frame big enough to fit it. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Another day he would buy one.  
  
Mitsuki hummed to himself and sat on the edge of his bed. The image of Sekiei reaching out for his drawing self’s hand made him feel he had someone to do that for, too. Like he could reach out and grab Sekiei’s hand then and there. Though, even Mitsuki knew the afterlife was unreachable for living beings.  
  
His mind drifted. Where he could reach…  
  
An idea popped up.  
  
Mitsuki wandered to his desk. He pulled out a stack of stationary items and a tack. Leaning on his tip-toes, he placed the picture against the bare expanse of the gray wall. He tacked the picture right above the bedside table.  
  
Mitsuki had planted graves. The graves were the last tribute the Fabrications would receive. And while the graves were shallow and would be erased in time due to weather, Mitsuki had not known what else to do. Sekiei wasn’t with him anymore in the living world and he hadn’t been able to properly answer him. Still, the spirit of what he had been was in his room, and he could look at his drawing every day.  
  
Boruto always would be his brilliant sun and guide him on the correct path. The whole of Squad Konohamaru was where he belonged and thrived. Sekiei, though… He had taught him something important about himself and his connection to other people in his life. He had shown him there were others like him.  
  
The drawing shone in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of episode 92 I thought, “Mitsuki has a new picture of his friends… Hey, he should have one of Sekiei’s drawings!” Thus, the idea for this fic was born. The Fabrication deaths, especially Sekiei’s, were sad!
> 
> I also wanted to play around with Squad 7's interactions, too.


End file.
